The Willow Still Weeps
by Potosynthesis
Summary: Starting when Christine was 5, this begins as a lookback at Christine's past, but ends as a story that tells how love changes, grows, and fate is not always what you want. R&R somtime OOC EC
1. Meeting your true love

**The Willow Still Weeps**

I was only a scared little girl! It wasn't my fault! Yet again and again, I was told it was my entire fault. Raoul's death; Erik's death. Everything was blamed on me, over and over again. I cried myself to sleep, night after night, until I found reason to believe that Erik was alive-I started a search immediately. The search was all I lived for. It got me up in the morning and put me to bed for almost a year, until finally my search was completed.

I am getting ahead of myself; let me start at the beginning. I was born on a cold winter day- January 7. My mother, a beautiful singer, my father, the greatest violinist I will ever meet, and I traveled the countryside, staying where we could. Though we had more than enough money to buy a house, my parent's always said adventure was their passion, and so it was mine. That is another thing- I had to do everything exactly like my parents. One hot summer day, I believe we were in northern France; we were having a picnic by a small lake. I remember it perfectly, or at least, her. She moved with the grace of an angel, my mother. I would always sneak glances at her, staring at her beauty. My father would always whisper sweet-nothings into her ear, and she would chuckle.

Oh, that chuckle! It was like an angel's laugh. After what I guess was a very funny joke, my mother picked up a croissant and began putting some toppings on, laughing the whole while. Her smile was incredible, too. Imitating her, I shyly reached for a croissant, but ended up making everything spill all over! As my mother raced to pick it up, my father led me away, telling me to play on the swing. Glancing once more to see my mother, I saw her body fall to the ground, and my father rush after her. I didn't know what happened, I was 5 years old! I thought she just fell asleep or something. And, being 5 years old, I didn't break the rules. I sat on that little swing, swinging back and forth, back and forth, as my father rushed around looking for help.

After a few minutes, I decided to go and get another croissant. Lightly jumping off the swing, I began walking toward the food. I remember this part the best-

The small pitter-patter of my feet on the soft grass, my father's whimpers, far away, and that image, forever burned in my memory.

My mother, one arm across her chest, and one arm lying limply at her side-a small trickle of blood from her mouth to her chin, a smile forever engraved on her face. Drinks and food spilled everywhere, the faint smell of death hanging around me. I didn't know what was going on, and if I did, I just ignored it. Walking up to her, I kissed her lightly on her cold cheek and whispered "I love you, mama." in her ear before grabbing a croissant and walking back to the swing.

I sat at that swing all day, until my papa came back and had to carry my mother's body away by himself, leaving a small trail of blood behind. When I asked where Mama was, he told me she was an angel, now.

"But mama," I said, in that little 5 year old voice. "…was always an angel. Didn't you know?"

That was how my mama died, all those years ago. For the first couple of years, it was hard, her image still burned in my memory. But as I grew older, I forgot certain things about her. Her eyes, her hair, her scent...it all became a blur. When I turned 11, her lack of presence became too much, and I collapsed into a deep sleep. That is how I stayed for so long. That is how I wanted to stay, with my mama.

But god was cruel. 8 months after I entered my deep sleep, I awoke to the sound of the sea. Slowly opening my eyes, I was greeted by a new face. I called her Mama Valerius, for she was my mother-figure from then on. The salty-sea smell hung around her, so I could only guess that we were by a beach.

I stayed in my bed until my 12th birthday, because my papa told me I was very low on energy. On my 12t birthday, everyone in the house crowded around me, each giving me a present.

Mama Valerius gave me a beautiful cross, which looked like ribbons with a diamond where each ribbon met. It was truly beautiful, and the next Sunday we went and got it blessed. Each night I would say my prayers with it, and I would tightly hold it in my hand whenever I wanted to feel close to anyone who wasn't with me.

My other gifts were gifts you would expect to get when you were 12; ink, a doll, books, a new dress, but my father's gift will always be my favorite one. A blood red scarf, with a design of a red rose on the left end. Tassels hung at each end, and it was uncanny how much the scarf smelt like my mama. Papa said it used to be hers, and then I remembered; the picture.

Blood trickling down her mouth to her chin...her blood red scarf protecting her neck from the cold, to make sure her voice was not injured.

A tear fell down my face, as I took another breathe of the scarf. The tears fell freely now, like a thunder storm. Like magic, rain started to fall, and I could hear it land on the roof. The rain and I were in sync, falling at a rhythmic pace. We were one in the same; lonely, sad, alone. A room full of people, but I could not connect to any of them, except my papa. I almost fell into my sad existence once again, but when I saw a tear spill from my father's eye, I knew I could not leave him alone again. I quickly wrapped the scarf around my neck, in the same fashion my mother had.

"Thank you, papa. This is the best gift I could ever receive." I whispered, before standing up and trying to walk. This was the first of many lessons I would learn before the age of 20: Don't believe you can run when you are rusty at walking.

My legs felt soar, like they were on fire, but I kept walking towards the door, showing everyone nothing could defeat me.

I stood outside in the rain, the smell of morning dew still fresh. My dress was soaking, but I didn't care. Once the rain let up, I began to explore my new home, which, in the whole year I was here, I never experienced. I began to run, falling quite a lot. I was correct in my first assumption; we did indeed live by a shore. I saw, very far off, a boat coming toward me. My mothers scarf flew off my neck, flying into the sea. That is when I first met Raoul-rest in peace. He must have been only 12 or 13 then, but he was still as handsome as ever. His hair was a bit shorter, too.

"Help!" I had cried. The scarf was slowly drifting away to meet the boat. Raoul ran up to me and asked what was wrong. At this point I was already breaking down, fresh tears streaming down my face.

"My...my mama...'s scarf!" I pointed towards the water, where the scarf was 'drowning.' Raoul immediately jumped in after it. I think that is when I began to love him. He was so kind to me...

As the clouds above became darker, I urged the boy who jumped into the water to come back. My scarf was already slowly drifting out of reach, and I could see the young boy was losing control. At any second he could have drowned, but he kept swimming further out, until finally I could barely see him.

"Come back! It is too dangerous!" I had screamed, but he couldn't hear me. I decided to sit down, hoping Raoul would come back soon. I debated about talking to my papa, but he would probably have been mad at me for letting my scarf escape. So I sat there, as the rain began to pour once again. Oh, that memory is so painful to remember! I thought he had died, drowned! I had fallen in love with him then, I believe. The nameless man who went in search of my scarf.

The thunder began, and I felt as if the world under me would shake at any minute. Finally, Raoul returned, scarf in hand. He was soaking wet, and, even though I was too, told him so. He began to laugh.

"Well, it seems I am not the only one wet here, now am I?" he said

"I guess it seems that way." I replied. Then I began to laugh, also.

"Raoul de Chagny" Raoul announced, holding his hand out.

"Christine Daae" I said. He took a glance at the scarf, then held it out for me. "I guess I should give this back."

As I went to grab the scarf, I heard my father's call from the house. "That is my papa. It was nice meeting you!"

Running back to my house, I swear I could hear Raoul say "yes it was." A smile came upon my face.

"Who was that?" My father asked when I returned. I told him of the adventure I had(well, Raoul) with the scarf. "Well, that must be a brave young man, that Raoul."

"Yes, yes he is"

A/N Ok this is the first chapter...I thought since everyone always wrote stories about Erik's past, I would write what I think should have been Christine's past. Christine is very smart for a 5 year old. Ha. And a 12 year old Review! I am sorry I keep writing new stories instead of updating my old ones, but when inspiration hits, it hits. OK YOU CAN'T SUE BECAUSE I MADE THIS ALL UP! And don't flame saying this never happened, Character's are OOC, or any of that, because this is MY story and I can say whatever I think happened(or should have happened)


	2. Childhood Sweethearts Ruin it

A/N Chapter 1: Did you like it? Did you hate it? Please tell e so I can make it better, but no flames. Remember what happened last time? Ha. If anyone is wondering, I know exactly where this story is going, just I am still thinking of what should happen between those two points. And don't ask me what the next great point is, I will just tell you it involves Raoul and Christine and it is after "Erik is dead." This will not be like most other stories where Christine doesn't love Raoul. As I said in the A/N of like chapter 15 or whichever chapter I wrote yesterday A soul mate and a true love are different to me.

**The Willow Still Weeps**

After that day, everything was blissfully simple. Days were filled with joy and music, and nights were filled with dreams of meeting my true love. There were so many happy days I had in that little house by the shore, I wish I could remember them all. But my small memory does not. I do remember greatly the special days, Christmas, birthdays, and many of the adventures I had with Raoul.

One very special adventure to me I will always remember. I must have been about 13, which made Raoul 14. I was just beginning to feel attracted to Raoul, with his long, dirty blond hair and his soft blue eyes. One day, we decided to find what was hidden behind some rocks, which we were not allowed to go near. I walked down the street to Raoul's rather large home, where Raoul was waiting outside for me. He had to go eat a light lunch before we could go anywhere.

"Would you like to come along?" he asked. I had lived in my little home for almost a year, but was never invited into his home.

"Ok...I am a bit peckish"

His house was amazing. There was a grand staircase leading up to what must have been the bedrooms of Raoul, his brother Philippe, and his 2 sisters, Danielle and Jacqueline. The walls were a nice shade of beige, almost mimicking the sands of the shore. To my left was a small storage closet, a hallway leading to the library, and stairs leading to a cellar. To my right, Raoul's parent's bedroom, anther hallway, and a rather large cooking area. Straight ahead was a very large dining room, with candles, cloths, and even a small chandelier above the table. The table seemed to be cherry oak, and the seats matched. I was so blinded by the beauty of the home that I missed when Raoul said "the food is in the kitchen."

"What?" I asked, and then he repeated what he had said. Then we spent possibly an hour chewing on some pastries and bread.

Once we had had our fill, we headed outside. Then we walk to the rocks, hiding whenever we saw one of our parents cross. After a few(about 15) minutes of walking along the shore, we finally reached them. Moss covered most of the rocks, but I can't really remember, now I just remember a grey blob. Raoul started to climb a rock, and almost tripped. I caught him, and felt a serge of tingling sensations reach every nerve on my body. Was this love? In only 3 years, to think, I could have been Madam Christine de Chagny. When I was growing up, I used to wish I had been born 50 years earlier. I don't know why. I guess life just seemed simpler back then. Anyway, back to the story.

So Raoul held onto the rock once more. As he started to climb up, I jumped onto another, lower rock and looked over. Water. All I saw was so much water. "Raoul...look at this!" I exclaimed. Raoul quickly looked up. He went to hug me, for we were becoming what you would call "childhood sweethearts." When he went to embrace me, however, he pushed me into the water. Instead of jumping out immediately, I instead pulled Raoul into the water also, and we spent the rest of the day in each other's company, until finally we sat together on the rocks, shivering, watching the sun set together. It was one of the most romantic moments in my life.

"No, I best be getting home. My parent's will have a fit." Raoul said, in his fake gentleman voice.

"See you tomorrow, Raoul." I said, halfway up the steps to my room. My room was disgusting. It was pink, with lacy things all over it. I couldn't wait until I moved out, that way I could decorate my own room. I quickly dried off and changed into a very uncomfortable sleeping outfit. On several occasion Once we returned to my home, it was so late my father was already settled, playing his violin. Whenever I saw him do that, his eyes almost glossed over, like he was lost in a different memory, trapped in a different time. Nobody could talk to him, he was just in a trance. Luckily for me, Mama Valerius was easy, she let me get away with almost everything. So, when she entered the room and saw me soaking wet, she told me to change into my pajamas.

"Will Raoul be staying over tonight?" she asked, with no emotion in her voice. She was very old, and a sickness had taken over her. She coughed sometimes, and was bedridden for most of the day. She got up at about noon and went to sleep at 8. Actually, I was surprised to see her up.

I entered my room, which was pink and lacy. I hated it, I remember when I was little I would wish I was older, so then I could decorate my own room. Changing into my pajamas, I realized those also were pink. It was disgusting. Once I had asked for new clothing. I guess since my father was out of work, no money was coming to the house. Yet, I wondered why Mama Valerius had no money. She must have had money at one time, to buy a home this close to the shore.

While I was thinking, a tap came from my door. "Who is it?" I asked, my voice a little raspy.

My father's voice came from outside the door. He had come to read me a bed time story. Once I granted his entrance, he came to the side of my bed. "Christine, why do you look so..." he couldn't find a word to explain it. Quickly he put his hand to my forehead and cheeks.

"Christine...what were you doing today?" his hands stayed on my cheek. It felt cool on my hot skin. "I was just walking around with Raoul. Why, papa?" he sensed I was lying, I could tell by his eyes. "You went in the water, didn't you?" he questioned. I knew lying would only get me into further trouble. I told him the truth about what Raoul and I had done that day.

"Oh Christine, you are so like your mother. She too didn't listen to rules and simple things like that." my father said, sounding sad and tired. He sounded downright older than he used to.

"What was mama like? I can't remember her that well." I asked.

"She was-actually, she looked just like you. Except you have my hazel eyes." He said, pride glowing from his face. Then his face overcame with sorrow. "You remind me so much of her-her sweet voice, perfect little nose..." when he said this he playfully grabbed my nose-"rosy cheeks." he finished. Now he looked almost hurt, like it was painful to talk about, like it was my fault all of this happened. "Papa?" I asked.

"You are sick Christine, stay in bed for the next few days. There will be no going out. Now I must go to bed." he commanded, his voice lifeless and emotionless.

"But papa...my bedtime story?"

"Not tonight Christine, another night."

I had to stay in my bed for 4 days total, every day becoming more and more boring. My father didn't visit me often. No bedtimes stories were told, and I felt more and more distant every minute my father didn't come to me. Once I was free of illness, I went to my father.

"Papa, why don't you come and see me?"

'You think of everything, little Christine."

"I think of nothing! Tell me why..."I asked, but paused when the hurt overtook my father's face once more. At that moment, Raoul walked into the room. My father's face took on a happy expression once more, and that is how it was for a few days.

We would spend days in the attic, telling stories and eating. My father would disappear for hours at a time, and then fall asleep when he got home, and he smelt horrible. Before that, however, he would tell Raoul and I fairytales. My favorite was of the little Ballerina soprano, Little Lotte. She was cute and funny, charming and smart. Her voice was as pure as an angel, and she graced the stage with her beautiful movements. She wasn't perfect, however. She was all alone, so she created an "angel of music" to keep her company. Eventually, she became mad because her angel wouldn't speak to her anymore.

My father spoke of the story in a different light, however. He told the story of how Lotte had fallen in love with a man who was already wed, and was so lonely because nobody loved her. Her mother was dead, and she never saw her father, because she lived in the Opera House. The Angel of Music came to her and gave her a voice and body of an angel, but Lotte was still not happy. Little Lotte's father visited her one day, very sickly, and told her the man Lotte had fallen in love with was dead. Lotte's life was once again where it had started. But this time, the Angel of Music was nowhere to be found.

I felt somehow connected to Lotte. She had lived in a opera house, filled with people, but was all alone. I felt all alone, even though I was surrounded by so many faces.

Soon, the stories ended, and I never saw my father. It was all because I once again asked him about my mother. In the morning he would go out to get drunk, then he would come back when I was sleeping. The whole house smelt of liquor, and my father was spending more and more of our money with each passing day. We didn't have money to begin with, but now we barely had enough to buy food. Birthdays were passed, and holidays were no longer celebrated. We just didn't have enough money.

One day, my father stayed home. I was 14 at the time, and my father decided to go for a walk on the beach. He invited me to come, and I happily accepted. I knew he was drunk, but at the stage we were at, any time with my papa I accepted gratefully. We were walking along, when suddenly he pushed me underneath.

"Stop...reminding me of her!" he screamed. "Pa...pa!" I yelled, as I tried to come up for air. My father just kept pulling my hair, pushing me under. Right before I lost consciousness, my father came to his senses.

"Oh Christine...I am so sorry!" he said, but just then, he fell into the water and drifted out, much like my scarf had. "PAPA!" I yelled to him. He told me to go get help, and I did.

When he was safely in the house, he fell asleep. Slowly, we watched him wither away, and we could do nothing but watch. I didn't sleep, and I stayed by his side the whole time.

The night before he died, I was reading a book. He called me and said "Christine, you are alone now. When I reach heaven, if I do, I will send you the angel of music. When I am in heaven child, I will send you the angel of music. I am sorry I couldn't be a better father, Lotte."

"I forgive you papa! Just don't go, please! I can't be alone, you can't leave me!"

"You are so stubborn, just like your mother. Please, can you just stop reminding me of her?" My eyes filled with tears. He laughed. "Don't cry, little one. I don't want an angel's tears and angel's blood on me, then I surely wouldn't be accepted into heaven."

"I love you, papa." I whispered.

My father's eyes closed in a gesture of blinking, and they never opened again.

"Do you hear me, papa?" I screamed. "Where will I go? What will happen to me? Stop being so selfish!" I knew I was being unreasonable, my father couldn't choose if he lived or died. I just wanted to believe...just like I wanted to believe in the so called "angel of music." I thought I was the reason my papa was dead, I really did. If I had just listened to him ad not gone by those rocks...

So, where would I find this so called angel? Where Lotte found hers, of course. So I headed off to the Opera House.

A/N Ok I know I will get reviews with OOC ALERT! But, hey, maybe this IS what really happened(though I doubt it)! You don't know, nobody ever really tells us much of Christine's past other than the scarf and "I will send you the angel of music" you know? So, really, this isn't being out of character at all.

As for if you see any spelling/grammar mistakes, sorry but my Beta(gerardPhantomHot) isn't here right now, yeah...sorry bout that...Plus, I don't know if she even WANTS to beta this story, so you know. If anyone is interested, I guess...


End file.
